


Eskimo Kisses

by meggiemellark (ohmymeggs)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, snow cone stand, summer fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/meggiemellark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing worse than tutoring the person who drives her craziest is working in a ten square-foot shack with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eskimo Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KeelaC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeelaC/gifts).



> For Kayla. Thank you for everything you do for me. You know.

If I never have to see another bag of ice for the rest of my life, it will still be too soon. Thunder rumbles softly across the sky, like it has been on and off all day, but the lack of actual rain hasn’t deterred the lines in front of the snow-cone shack at all. In fact, I think the oppressive, soupy heat has driven more people out seeking whatever relief they can find. We’ve already been through four bags of ice and it’s barely three.

Peeta Mellark scribbles furiously on the pad of paper we use to record orders when it gets crazy busy like this. My memory is pretty good; I can usually remember exactly what I’m supposed to be making, but when it gets this hot and the line stretches all the way to the edge of the parking lot, it’s nice to have a backup. Especially because he kept taking orders while I was out schlepping ice from the freezers out back to the shaved ice machine.

There are at least ten slips of paper stretched out on the counter, so I bite my tongue to quell the hateful comments I wish I could spit at my coworker and get busy making snow cones. As far as summer job goes, I guess it doesn’t suck. We don’t open until noon, so I still have time to take care of the house, the shack is air conditioned, and a small, flat-screen television is mounted in the corner. When we’re not falling all over each other trying to fill orders, Peeta usually watches SportsCenter and I try to study.

“Katniss,” he calls over his shoulder. “Do you have my two Silver Foxes done yet?”

I roll my eyes and slide the Styrofoam cups down the counter toward him. “I had to get more ice. It’s going to take me a minute to catch up.”

He sighs. “Okay.”

There are a lot of things I could say about Peeta Mellark, but the main one is that I can’t stand him. He’s the epitome of just about everything I hate about our southern major university—student-athlete (wrestling), the Dean’s golden boy (he trots Peeta out to speak at _every single_ fund-raising event), and he always seems to pop up when I least expect to see him.

Our paths never would have crossed if it weren’t for the athletic tutoring program the university put into place in order to help its struggling athletes. When graduation rates started dropping a few years ago, the athletic department made it mandatory for all student-athletes to spend at least five hours in tutoring every week. Because of my grades, my academic adviser nominated me to become a tutor and I accepted, mostly because it paid way more than I was making waiting tables at the diner across town and the job was on campus. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was that having to spend twenty-five hours a week with a bunch of athletes was going to ruin my life.

It’s not that I hate them because they’re athletic, I just don’t get it. I never had the chance to play organized sports because I was always too busy taking care of my sister. When it became apparent that studying hard and getting scholarships was the only way I was going to go to college, I buckled down. While my classmates were sitting in the bleachers on Friday nights, I was at home studying chemistry and memorizing the quadratic equation.

The athletes, however, are not so excited about learning… Well, anything. Most of my assigned student-athletes wanted me to write papers and attend class for them. Peeta had been different though. He was more than willing to do his own homework, and he was even pretty intelligent; he’d just wanted me to go out with him. I’d shot him down in a blaze of indignation and righteous anger, but he’d just smiled at me and told me he’d grown on me.

Yeah. Like a mold.

So imagine my surprise when a month ago I turned up on the first day of my new summer job at Eskimo Sno and found none other than Peeta Mellark manning the window. He’d just smiled at me and told me his parents owned the stand and he liked to help out when he could. I try to ignore him and it works most of the time.

“Small wedding cake, medium tiger’s blood with cream, small grape no top, large rainbow extra syrup, and a medium cherry cola.” I call out the window on my end of the trailer and hand off the cups as the patrons come forward to accept them. I breathe a sigh of relief; we’ve finally reached the end of the line. I wipe my hands off on the white kitchen towel on the counter and then turn to the sink to wash them. They’re bright red and freezing, but I don’t mind. It’s better than hanging out the window having to talk to everyone.

A pack of blonde girls in baggy sorority tank tops and Nike running shorts sidles up to the window and start giggling as soon as they see Peeta. He relaxes onto the counter. These are his favorite customers. I can practically predict people’s orders at this point, so I busy myself readying four kid-sized cups and pull all the rarely-used sugar free syrups from the shelf. Sure enough, I pour two sugar-free cherries, one sugar-free margarita, and one sugar-free grape and pass them off to Peeta, who waves goodbye to the girls. They’ve barely reached their car when a flash of lightning tears open the sky. With a collective shriek, they dive into the car and are gone as rain begins to pour.

“Fantastic,” I say, falling into the plastic chairs we keep inside the shack.

Peeta pulls closed the window and shrugs, before he takes his own seat and flips on the TV. “Whatever. I think there’s a baseball game on tonight.”

I’m unable to hide my sigh as I flip open my organic chemistry book and begin studying. He may not be taking classes this summer, but I definitely am.

“Why do you always do that?” he asks me, kicking his feet onto the counter.

“What? Study?” I roll my eyes. “Because it’s what normal people do when they can’t afford tutors to do everything for them.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Why do you always roll your eyes and sigh when I turn on the TV. Does it really bother you that much?”

“I’m pretty used to studying through noise. I have a sister.”

“So what is it that pisses you off then?”

I flip my textbook closed. “This is just what my face looks like, I guess.”

“I don’t think so…” Peeta leans toward me. “You only get like this when you’re around me. I’ve seen you with that boyfriend of yours. Tall, dark hair, broody eyes?”

“Gale?!” I choke on the mouthful of shaved ice I’m eating. “He’s _not_ my boyfriend.”

“But you like him,” he protests.

“More than most people.”

“Meaning me?”

“Mostly.” I spit acidly, and immediately feel bad. He might drive me crazy, but that doesn’t mean I have to be rude about it. I peer out the window at the water that pours from the sky relentlessly. “Look, it’s just that you and I are so different… I just don’t understand the whole sports thing. It would have been nice for someone to hand me a check just for being athletic.”

“Let me buy you dinner tonight.” I stiffen at his words. Does he never quit? “Maybe I can clear some things up for you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Because I’m a dumb jock?”

“I didn’t say that!” He absolutely infuriates me. I turn my head and stare out the window. Maybe if I stay quiet for long enough, he’ll forget that I’m here and stop paying attention to me.

He watches his baseball game silently for a few moments, but then he clears his throat and shifts in his chair. I steel myself, waiting for the barb I’m sure will come next.

“I didn’t get a wrestling scholarship,” he says quietly. “My brothers did, both of them, to Ohio State and they recruited me, but I tore my shoulder up pretty bad in high school and they dropped me.”

I turn to him, meet his eyes briefly, but then turn away as soon as I realize how blue they are. I guess I’ve never paid much attention.

“Anyway… My parents were really pissed and they told me I needed to find a way to pay for school on my own. So I got some last-minute scholarships and walked on to the wrestling team here, but it’s a lot of work for no money.” He chuckles mirthlessly and rubs his hands together. “Want to know the really stupid part? I don’t even like wrestling that much anymore, but I have to keep at it, because there’s a possibility that I might get a percentage of an athletic scholarship next year when someone graduates. That’s _if_ I don’t get hurt again and _if_ no one better than me comes by in the meantime. So I get it, Katniss. I get studying and feeling like you’ve had a rough time of it. But it doesn’t mean you have to treat everyone like they’re beneath you.”

I swallow hard, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did,” he says quietly, “but that’s okay. I’m pretty used to people judging me.”

An uncomfortable sensation wriggles in my stomach and I watch him carefully for a minute. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” Peeta picks at his thumbnail. “You never bothered to get to know me. Even when you tutored me last semester, you never once asked about _me_. You asked about my classes, because it was your job. You asked about wrestling, sure, even though you hated it. I just wanted us to be friends. It just sucks that you don’t care at all.”

“I went to your wrestling tournament last spring,” I say quietly before I can stop myself. “You were wonderful. I _do_ care, Peeta. I do. I just…” I sigh. “I’m really bad at showing it.”

He leans forward and twists the end of my braid around his fingers. My breath catches in my throat because I know what happens next.

He kisses me. His lips are soft and he tastes like sugar and shaved ice. And it feels so _right_ , so impossibly _good_ that I know I’ve completely misjudged my feelings for him. I relax into him and he deepens out kiss, his lips sliding over mine in the most delicious of ways.

He pulls away from me far sooner than I would have liked and he smiles at me. “How’s that for showing it?”

“I think I could get used to that.” I giggle and feel a genuine smile cross my face for the first time in a long while.

Lightning flashes outside the shack and thunder continues to rumble around us, for the rest of the night, but we spend our shift talking and kissing and laughing, getting to know each other completely for the first time.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
